


Blue Collar Christmas

by babyrubysoho



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Arguing, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Cute, M/M, Sassy Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: Seunghyun - possibly the most put-upon Santa Claus in holiday history - attempts to have a Merry Christmas with the help (and hindrance) of the world’s prettiest and bossiest elf.
Relationships: Choi Seunghyun | T.O.P./Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	Blue Collar Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julla/gifts).



> Julla asked me if I'd think about writing a cute Christmas GTOP fic. I said if I wrote an xmas story it'd probably be something kinky with an elf XD  
> Well, I did it, and there's an elf but fluff instead of kink. So, Merry Christmas Julla, and to all!

Being Father Christmas wasn’t easy – in fact it gave you stress, high blood pressure and headaches. No wonder the image on human greetings cards and seasonal Coca-Cola ads was of a big fat red-faced old man: the pressure of it all meant compulsive eating and incipient alcoholism were epidemic among the Santa population. Still, Seunghyun considered himself unluckier than most.

“ _Jiyong_!” he bawled for the third time. No response. He emerged from his office and onto the gallery that ran above the factory floor. “ _Ji_ – oh, there you are. What time d’you call this, huh?”

“Shift supervisor gets a fifteen-minute break every three hours,” said Jiyong comfortably, appearing at his elbow. “You made the regulations, read ‘em once in a while. Anyway, I’m ready to go.” Seunghyun shook his head and walked off, trying with only partial success to tamp down the urge to give his employee a clip round the ear; Jiyong knew every workers’ rights rule in the book, he’d never get away with it.

Had his father and grandfather had to deal with this shit? Seunghyun wondered as he dragged the dust cover off the sleigh and got it out of its shed – well, he called it a sleigh, it was a state-of-the-art Arctic Cat XF 9000 snowmobile (it still flew, though); he was a _modern_ myth, after all. He knew that in the old days there’d been only one Santa Claus, an absolute ruler, practically a god; back before he’d had a name, before Christianity was even the faint beginnings of a story and the winter solstice was all about the sun and survival and blood on the snow. As the Christian population diffused around the globe and capitalism made Christmas gift-giving common practice, the original deity’s kids had climbed on the wagon and scattered to set up franchises in different countries – Seunghyun’s family line had been the official Santa of Korea for almost two hundred years. But he was sure they hadn’t had to put up with half the crap _he_ encountered on a daily basis.

“C’mon, Boss!” complained Jiyong around a cigarette as Seunghyun pulled up beside him. “I’m on shift again at five.”

“Get on, then, sheesh.” Jiyong took a final drag, pitched the stub of his smoke into a snowbank and climbed on behind Seunghyun. He was dressed sensibly for the freezing high-altitude journey in a green padded coat, green boots and a stripy hat, the mirror image of Seunghyun’s own red outfit – tradition was tradition, even in the twenty-first century. Like all elves he was short, and the bit of face visible between the wool of his hat and the fur trimming his hood was small and fair, cheeks turning pink in the wind; the sight of him always brought to mind some kind of Disney fairy.

“I’m freezing my goddamn ass off!” complained Jiyong, smacking his boss on the shoulder with one mittened hand to get him moving. “Can we _go_ already? I wanna see what the Starbucks Christmas special is.” Seunghyun ruefully reflected (not for the first time) that Jiyong was the perfect PR picture of Santa’s Little Helper – until he actually opened his mouth. He started up the Cat and it rose slowly to hover above the clearing and overhanging rock concealing the entrance to the picturesque (you might even say twee) village in which they spent almost 365 days a year. From behind him Seunghyun heard Jiyong mutter something critical about his driving; for a minute he wished he’d brought Daesung instead – now _there_ was an appropriately jolly elf.

They rose past the treeline, higher and higher until they crested the peak of Seoraksan. The day was clear and sunny so Seunghyun turned on his cloaking field; it was all very well his ancestors deciding on this place to build their base of operations – ‘backbone of Korea’ and all – but since then it’d become a National Park plus Natural Monument and these days you could barely move on the lower slopes for hikers. There were a couple of hardy souls down there now, walking a wide path around the entrance to the hidden grotto – thanks to the magic of the place they were physically unable to approach further. Some of the elves didn’t mind the march of progress, they’d trek down and interact with the humans (pointy ears safely hidden under caps), but Seunghyun personally was fond of the solitude.

“Hang on,” he called over his shoulder, and they stopped hovering and shot off towards Seoul. A surprised curse from behind him made him grin; then Jiyong’s arms wrapped tight round his waist. Ah. _That_ was why he hadn’t brought Daesung instead.

It took but a blink of time before the snowmobile was coming to rest on the roof of the Lotte department store; in those brief seconds Seunghyun had made the most of Jiyong’s slender body pressed against his (through several layers of padding): he wasn’t human but he was still a _man_. Jiyong clambered off the Cat, hopping up and down while his boss disembarked. Seunghyun had never met another elf who felt the cold so much, and if this one wasn’t such a pain in the ass he’d probably find it cute.

“Right,” said Jiyong, teeth chattering as the older man opened the locked rooftop door and magicked them down to the toy department. He produced a smartphone and ran his eyes over his list. “We’ve gotta do here, Shinsegae, then Dongdaemun Toy Market. So chop chop!”

“Fine. And if you can do it without complaining I’ll _buy_ you the Starbucks.”

It was a November tradition; more than that, it was a necessity. Seunghyun and the others worked year-round making the gifts that would go in kids’ stockings and under trees; from January ‘til October they crafted the perennial favourites, things like Legos that humans wanted every year. In late November Seunghyun would go scout the toy stores for the latest releases, the fads, the stuff children would start clamouring for last-minute and which were always the most desired presents. Then there’d be a frantic month getting them made, after which everyone could relax for a hot second on Christmas day. Seunghyun knew he could technically do his reconnaissance online these days, but some old customs had their charm.

He told himself that he chose Jiyong for this trip every year because he was the most efficient of the elves (certainly the most anal retentive). Seunghyun would make the judgements about which toys were going to be big hits, with some judicious help from kids’ wishlists. Occasionally Jiyong would chip in, especially when it came to fashion items for teenagers. Once Seunghyun had given it the nod the elf would log it all down to report to the heads of production; in the old days Santa’s assistant would have to do all this with the aid of a sketchpad and a good memory, but Jiyong came armed with a Galaxy Note and stylus, which was just as well – toys these days were ridiculously complicated. Seunghyun had pangs of nostalgia for the bygone era when a child was happy with a model train or a doll. Jiyong, however, had no truck with such wishy-washy thoughts.

“Look at this!” he’d exclaim every few minutes at some new hi-tech item all the kids in the store were flocking to. “So cool.”

“You won’t be saying that when you’re working overtime to get all this shit made,” Seunghyun reminded him. Jiyong just smiled, giddy as a boy himself. _This_ was why Seunghyun brought him along: to get him away from the base. It was the one day of the year Jiyong would show his sweet side – as a shift leader and general troublemaker they spent the other 364 days butting heads. It’d be nice, thought Seunghyun wistfully, if he could see that smile every day. And those gums and white teeth and cute cheeks. But that kind of thinking never did any good; Jiyong was Jiyong, and Seunghyun just had to put up with it.

“Finished!” announced Jiyong four hours later, sticking his phone in his coat pocket. His cheeks were flushed now with warmth from the stores but he couldn’t take his hat off because of the ears. “Reward?” He beamed at his employer. Seunghyun did his best not to look too charmed; it got easier when he considered what mood Jiyong was likely to be in this time tomorrow.

“All right.”

On their way to the coffee shop they passed a human Santa. Christ, those poor bastards worked almost as hard as he did, thought Seunghyun with sympathy: all those actual children to deal with. And the beard – Seunghyun had put his foot down about the damn beard but the image change hadn’t filtered through to the public yet. He and Jiyong caught sight of the man (red suit, white wig, pillow up his jacket) and grinned at each other in a moment of conspiratorial humour. Seunghyun liked it more than he ought to.

“Toffee Nut Latte, please,” requested Jiyong, who had a sweet tooth. “And a cranberry bar.”

“Here.” Seunghyun stuffed some won bills in his hand. “Go get ‘em, then. I’ll have the Christmas blend, black.” What else were elves _for_ , anyway? He watched Jiyong trot away, grumbling (but under his breath in case Seunghyun decided to confiscate the human money and rescind his treat).

Hands warmed by the paper cups they strolled through the streets watching the shoppers, Jiyong’s face illuminated by the early Christmas lights. Seunghyun could tell the smaller man was being judgy about the effort the city was putting into its celebrations; it was his hobby and he only got to exercise it once a year. All the same, he seemed to be enjoying the sights. Jiyong’s elegant nose had turned red as the proverbial Rudolph’s with the cold, bundled-up fingers curled around his cup as he cautiously sipped the hot, sweet concoction that would undoubtedly give Seunghyun a toothache were he to attempt it.

The older man couldn’t help a vague desire to take Jiyong’s hand and warm it within his own; to wander through the winter decorations like a pair of young lovers. You saw it in the movies and dramas all the time but Seunghyun had never experienced such a thing himself. There wasn’t much romance to being a Santa; sex was basically for the making of new Santas – you’d find a human woman who liked you, and hey presto, an heir. Even that was optional: Seunghyun and his dad before him had both been adopted (after a while you began to absorb the magic, presumably through osmosis). All that ‘Mary Christmas’ stuff was a human fantasy. Still, though, sometimes Seunghyun would look at pretty little Jiyong and wish he could be the first Santa with a sweetheart. (Then Jiyong would start talking and the feeling would generally evaporate.)

“Crap!” barked Jiyong, rather proving his point. He waggled a hand at the big clock on one of the department stores. “It’s four-forty!”

“You can be a little bit late, can’t you?” Seunghyun coaxed. Jiyong eyed him incredulously.

“And when we’re behind on the PS4 Pros ‘cos no-one on the floor can get their asses in gear without me, who’s gonna be complaining?!” He stuck his lovely nose in the air as Seunghyun opened his mouth to deny it. “I’m thinking of my team,” Jiyong scolded him. “All you’re thinking of is your own nice time!”

Seunghyun gave up and took them back to the snowmobile in a hurry, anxious to keep the memory of the sweet afternoon as intact as possible. Jiyong whacked him on the back again and they took off without any more shared smiles; after all, this was reality.

* * *

Jiyong came and woke Seunghyun up the next morning to get his final approval on which gifts and how many were to go into production. Seunghyun staggered to the door of his bijou mountain cottage – using the sleigh for instantaneous travel took it out of him every time – and let his best worker inside before he hammered it down.

“Got coffee?” inquired Jiyong, removing the wool bobble hat he’d donned for the trek from his cliffside apartment to his employer’s place. He shook out his blonde hair and Seunghyun woke up a bit, or at least his libido did.

“Uh…if you wanna make it,” he said foggily. Jiyong gave him a ‘tch!’ of disapproval but went to commandeer the small kitchen. Seunghyun yawned and peered out of the window: it was a beautiful morning again, sun glittering on the snow and festive birds and other assorted wildlife frolicking Bambi-like among the trees. From the workshop across the way he could hear the distant sounds of industry and several voices raised in song – the Daesung contingent (his was the most classically ‘jolly elf’ of all the shifts, provided you didn’t pay too much attention to the actual lyrics). It was a Christmas card come to life.

“Hey!” Jiyong’s peremptory tones cut Seunghyun’s pleasant reverie short. “C’mon, I’ve gotta get this stuff out to the department heads by ten.” Seunghyun accepted the cup of black coffee aimed at him and went to join Jiyong at the table.

They discussed the many tedious points that went into producing gifts for a modern nation full of demanding kids, Jiyong suggesting and vetoing as they went along. Seunghyun tended to be full of high-flown bright ideas but Jiyong spoke with the voice of experience; despite his youth he knew his way around the shop floor better than his excitable boss. Every so often Seunghyun glanced up to find Jiyong’s head close to his own. He wished he could see the view from the outside, their dark and fair hair almost touching in the warmth of the kitchen, curls of steam coming off the coffee. It must look charmingly domestic.

“…Bloody hell,” said Jiyong once they’d come up with the final numbers. They both sat back and sighed.

“It’s a lot,” agreed Seunghyun.

“More than last year.” Jiyong bit his plump lower lip, and Seunghyun tried to focus on what that expression _meant_ rather than how adorable it made him look.

“Supply and demand,” Seunghyun reminded him. But it _was_ a lot. “What else can we do except fill it?” Jiyong puffed out his cheeks but pocketed his phone and stood up. The older man hurried to get his things on so he could accompany his employee to work; a sunny stroll in the snow might be nice right now.

“I’m telling you, though,” added Jiyong as Seunghyun shut the round red door behind them. “This much extra work? There’re gonna be problems, and it’s _your_ job to solve ‘em. So just brace yourself. _Boss_.” Seunghyun sighed again and trudged after him. Sometimes he found his best worker entirely lacking in Christmas spirit.

Jiyong was right: there were problems. Not with supplies, Santas didn’t have to worry about sourcing raw materials, thank God; everything required to make the gifts turned up by itself in a warehouse buried deep in the mountain. No, it was _time_ that was giving him trouble – less than a month to go and they had thousands upon thousands of complicated items to handcraft. Seunghyun had once suggested (tentatively) that they mechanize the production line a bit, and was immediately shouted down: turned out there was no-one as prideful as an elf whose artistry was under threat. Words like ‘sweatshop’ had been thrown around (no points for guessing who by) and the idea had been scrapped that same day. He supposed, then, his problems were twofold: time and Jiyong.

How could they complain if they wouldn’t _adapt_? wondered Seunghyun grumpily, once December was warming up to be an absolute shit-show. True, they’d never had as high a volume of complex gifts to produce before (some of the Soft Toy and Model workers were going to have to retrain for Electronics next year if it kept up like this); but it _had_ to get done, and if they wouldn’t accept a little bit of automation they’d have to make up for it with speed and extra hours.

“This is ridiculous!” complained Jiyong, stomping up to Seunghyun’s office and standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He was the second shift supervisor to come griping that day. “I’ve got three workers off with stress headaches and it’s not even the 7th yet!”

“We agreed how much stuff we’d need,” Seunghyun reminded him.

“But not at the expense of my people.” Jiyong looked adamant. Still, the older man wasn’t about to cave just like that: getting the gifts out on Christmas Eve was his _raison d'être_.

“It’s only a few more weeks,” he said, a distinct note of pleading in his voice that made Jiyong’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. Seunghyun coughed. “Anyone who’s really not up to it is excused, but…but everyone else is gonna have to go on overtime. Got it?” The elf opened his mouth. “ _Jiyong_!”

“…Sure, Boss.” Jiyong shot him another thoughtful look; then he turned and descended the stairs to tell his shift the good news. Seunghyun knew this would make him unpopular, that Jiyong without much effort could stir up a buffet of grumblings and resentful stares; on the other hand, there wasn’t much the elf could practically _do_ about the situation, and Seunghyun didn’t have time to worry right now – he’d just have to make it up to them after Christmas.

It was a manic three days: Seunghyun himself was on the factory floor more than ever, in between checking his lists and making sure the Cat was up to snuff for the big night on the 24th. Perhaps that was why he was a tad slow on the uptake lately. He seemed to spend all his waking hours in his office.

It took him a while, but he gradually became aware of an odd sound; he glanced up from his desktop screen, on which he’d been trying (and failing) to make sense of next year’s calendar. Then he realized what it was: it was that the noise of the factory had stopped. Looking at the clock he saw it was 10p.m. _Dammit_ , they couldn’t quit production now! If they wanted to make the quota by Christmas Eve they needed to spend the next fortnight on twenty-hour operation.

He hurried out of his office and onto the gallery that circled high above the factory floor. No-one had gone anywhere; they’d just paused, each department, and were staring over their workstations at a group huddled by the central supervision desk. There were four of them: two women, heads of the Electronics and Soft Toy divisions, and two men. Seunghyun recognized Jiyong’s blonde head immediately – of course, he was elbows-deep in the life of the workshop at all times, it was a wonder he ever slept. The other male elf looked like Daesung. Jiyong was talking, slender hands gesturing calmly but emphatically around the factory. Daesung said something, Jiyong retorted. Then both women and Daesung shook their heads, albeit with apparent reluctance. Jiyong shrugged and they separated; a minute later the workshop came back to life.

“What now?” said Seunghyun under his breath. He promptly decided he was too tired to deal with it – he needed his energy for the big night, and worrying about what Jiyong was up to was only going to drain it – and went to bed.

Three days after _that_ they were busier than ever; these goddamn gadgets were simply a nightmare to put together by hand, no matter how skilled his elves were. Seunghyun didn’t like it but it looked as though the three main shifts would have to take it in turns round the clock naval-style for the foreseeable future.

“Are you mad?!” exclaimed Jiyong when Seunghyun called a meeting for the department heads and shift leaders. The older man sighed and shook his head. “See that?” Jiyong demanded, pointing across at the far wall of the workshop where a sign proudly proclaiming ‘673 days without incident’ hung conspicuously. “Wanna see a big fat zero there instead?” The other leaders looked surreptitiously supportive. “We’re gonna have industrial accidents out the wazoo!”

“There’s nothing else for it,” Seunghyun insisted. “You want to be the first grotto in history whose Santa couldn’t deliver?!” There was some muttering; the others all looked to Jiyong (being the resident pain in the backside).

“Make changes!” snapped Jiyong. He aimed a warning finger at the boss and they all stalked out of the office and down the stairs to the workshop floor. Seunghyun didn’t follow them, he knew what he’d see if he did: conspiratorial huddling. He sat back down at his desk and put his head in his hands; all he could do now was wait for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

He woke up the next morning to find that it had. Seunghyun wasn’t a particularly early riser by nature but he always made the effort to be up and about by nine. When he glanced at the clock and found it was _six_ he groaned. Then he noticed the knocking, and beyond that the silence.

“…What happened?” he said blearily, pulling his front door open to reveal Jiyong. The elf wasn’t dressed for work (traditional green tunic, stripy leggings, boots and clipboard) but for the outside cold. Jiyong tugged off one mitten with his teeth, dug in his pocket, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. Befuddled, Seunghyun accepted them. He soon wished he hadn’t.

“On behalf of the Seasonal Gift Fulfilment Workers’ Collective, Sokcho Chapter 001,” Jiyong announced in a loud, formal tone, “I hereby issue you with a copy of our demands, signed and sealed as per Regulation 17b, Paragraph 3 of our proposed revisions.”

“Huh…?”

“We’re unionizing,” Jiyong informed him. Seunghyun gaped back at him. “In order to bring us in line with the basic employee rights of other developed-nation Little Helpers.” He gave the older man an arch look. “Elves aren’t indentured servants anymore! I’ve got two warehouse guys down with back injuries and my best worker in Electronics has practically lost her eyesight wiring circuit-boards – and that’s just my shift!”

“But…” tried Seunghyun, still bamboozled, “you’ve _got_ workers’ rights – I _gave_ them to you!”

“If you’ll turn to page two,” said Jiyong as if he hadn’t spoken, “you’ll find our fundamental requirements: a standard shift of maximum eight hours, forty minutes for lunch and three smoke breaks, existence of actual smoking habit regardless; automatic overtime compensation for anything longer than standard; equal maternity and paternity leave of six months.”

“You’re crazy!” Seunghyun didn’t know whether to laugh or tear his hair out. “You don’t even get paid money, how’m I supposed to give you extra for overtime?!”

“We’re open to negotiation,” replied the miniature firebrand, unfazed. “Remuneration in human money or extra leave in lieu. And permission to go into Sokcho.” Seunghyun opened his mouth. “Speaking of which,” Jiyong went on, “we want a full two days off a week, specific days to be dictated by the shift schedule, of course; and ten days’ holiday per year. We’ll take ‘em out of season, though – we’re not unreasonable.”

“But…” said Seunghyun again, the looming jaws of becoming a _failed Santa_ opening up before him. “But…at that rate we’ll never get this year’s quota done by Christmas!”

“You should’ve thought of that before you went all nineteenth-century mill owner on us.” Jiyong dug a battered pack of smokes out of his capacious pocket and clamped one between his white teeth; he struck a match against his boss’s porch post and ignited the cigarette.

“Hey, you can’t smoke at work!” Jiyong knew every one of Seunghyun’s carefully crafted regulations by heart, and _certainly_ that one.

“I’m not _at_ work,” said Jiyong, fag in the corner of his mouth as he rubbed his hands, looking every inch the rabble-rousing Union man minus the stubble. “Not ‘til you figure this shit out.” He nodded at Seunghyun. “That’s what I came to tell you: we’re on strike!” He turned on his heel and began to stride back towards the grotto, kicking up snow as he ploughed between the trees that hid the manufacturing site from view. Seunghyun fumbled his boots on, and still in his polka-dot pyjamas floundered after him.

“What d’you mean, strike?!”

“Whaddya think?” said Jiyong over his shoulder. Seunghyun caught up with him and the smaller man exhaled a ring of smoke in his direction. “Haven’t you read _North and South_? I’ve seen you lounging around like a lord of leisure with a book enough times.” Seunghyun spluttered inarticulately. As Jiyong finished speaking they emerged from the screen of fir trees and Seunghyun was treated to a sight that was absolutely new to him. “That’s what I mean,” Jiyong added in a complacent tone, smiling on what he had created. Seunghyun stared.

Below them, outside the cave-like entrance to the workshop, was a barricade. It was constructed largely of carved wood (though Seunghyun thought he could spot components from an elaborate swingset that was meant to be some rich kid’s Christmas present supporting the sides). In front of the barricade was a contingent of the tallest elves on Jiyong’s shift, also smoking and looking dour, as if anyone who tried to get in to work today was cruising for a bruising. Around the entrance Seunghyun saw fires crackling merrily, safely contained in metal oil drums. Figures were standing warming their hands or heating what appeared to be soup. As Seunghyun and Jiyong approached one of the young women noticed and waved.

“All ready?” called Jiyong. She nodded and turned to shout at the gathered crowd. In an instant the peaceful scene had transformed into a full demonstration: elves began marching in a circle, placards and wooden signs were shouldered (some decorated with tinsel where the festive instinct had won out), and a chant broke out. Jiyong gave his shivering boss a sunny grin before dashing forward to join them.

“Ain’t no power like the power of the people,  
‘cos the power of the people don’t stop!”

“ _Don’t stop_!” added Jiyong in a yell, and round they went again, and again. To Seunghyun’s disbelieving eyes it looked like they were enjoying themselves. How did they even know what a protest _was_? he wondered. Had other Santas across the globe been dealing with this crap, and if so why had no-one told him?!

As Jiyong passed close by in the circling crowd Seunghyun saw the younger man had acquired a large sign that read: ‘ _Kickin’ ass for the working class_!’ Jiyong beamed at him, shouted louder, and the Union’s inaugural protest continued. Seunghyun attempted some horrified calculations as to how much production time they were likely to lose pulling this ridiculous stunt versus how much they’d lose if he gave in to their demands; then he decided he wasn’t up to the task right now, and strode home fuming.

He could hear their racket from his cottage: it didn’t stop. Seunghyun’s plan had been to wait it out – how long could Jiyong’s crew keep marching and surviving on soup, after all? But when lunchtime rolled around and they were _still going_ he wrapped up warmly in his biggest and most imposing coat and stormed back to the factory.

_Fuck._

As they came into view he saw the protest had almost tripled in size. There were more fires, people were full-on barbequing, they’d brought out the catering equipment normally used for weddings and the Christmas party and were making hamburgers and kimchi fried rice. Half the workers were sitting around eating, swathed in hats and gloves, while the other half on the picket line marched and maintained a steady din – as if they could keep this up all day. Seunghyun was appalled to see _Daesung_ now leading the chant, which he’d managed to turn into a sing-song, complete with harmonies:

“ _There’s power in a factory, power in the land,_  
_Power in the hands of the worker!_  
_But it all amounts to nothing if together we don’t stand,_  
_There is power in a Union!_ ”

One of his most well-behaved and valuable staff! thought Seunghyun in despair; and now Daesung looked happy as if this was a day at the seaside. When Seunghyun tried to approach, to talk with them or at least get inside the grotto and see if _anyone_ was at work, the singing crowd swelled and stopped him. Their hapless employer retreated and Daesung segued into an alternative version of ‘ _We Will Rock You_ ’.

“Good, isn’t he,” gloated Jiyong over the thunder of stamping feet, materializing at Seunghyun’s side; his nose looked chilly but the rest of him was clearly warmed through with righteousness. “Think he got ‘em off YouTube: turns out protesting’s practically an art form.”

“…How many people did you get to join in this…this…?” managed Seunghyun weakly.

“Oh, every shift.” Jiyong lit up and inhaled with pleasure; the bigger man saw he had conjured a megaphone from somewhere. He looked in his element. “And the ones with kids or who’re too old to hang around outside are doing the food prep.”

“ _Jiyong_.” This was too much. Was it worth trying reason? It wasn’t like Seunghyun had many other options. “You _know_ we’ve got to be ready by Christmas Eve – otherwise what are we _for_?”

“I dunno about you,” said Jiyong, dark eyes flashing most attractively (though this was hardly the time to be noticing it), “but _we’re_ for living!”

“I…can’t we just sort this out _after_ Christmas?” Seunghyun scrubbed a hand across his face. “I promise I’ll listen to what you all have to say!” Christ, it really _was_ all of them, and Seunghyun had absolutely no other recourse: it wasn’t as though he had an army of spare employees, or anything to break up the strike beyond his precarious moral authority. What was one man – one Santa – supposed to do against a horde?

“ _No_ ,” snapped Jiyong truculently. “You wanna negotiate, we do it _now_ ; while you’ve got some incentive!” Seunghyun took a deep, unsteady breath. For almost the first time in his career he was about to lose it, though whether he was going to start screaming or just burst into tears was anyone’s guess.

“…How long do you imagine you can keep this up?” he asked instead. They’d get bored or exhausted if they had to do this overnight, surely.

“Longer than you think.” Jiyong raised his cigarette in salute to the marchers and called gleefully through the megaphone: “ _1-2-3-4, we won’t take it anymore_!” Seunghyun glowered at him and Jiyong smiled back, face bright and alive. Goddammit, the older man had been dreaming about such a sizzle of connection since Jiyong had begun working under him – but not like _this_.

“There’s a saying I read once,” said Seunghyun through his teeth, furious and absolutely helpless at the same time, “that I think you people would benefit from hearing.”

“Oh yeah?” countered Jiyong laconically, sticking his half-smoked cigarette behind his ear for later; he’d be wearing a fucking flat cap next. “What’s that then?” Seunghyun pointed a foreboding finger at his brand-new Union leader, and turned to flounce off through the snow.

“ _It won’t get better if you picket_!!”

Late that night the noise stopped. Seunghyun trod apprehensively through the new snowfall, and under the moonlight saw the picket line was deserted. Sensible, he thought: it was icy cold. He climbed over the structure and into the grotto; when he reached the vast factory floor he found it dark and still, the only sound his footsteps echoing in the high space. The sight made him panicky, of course – only two weeks to go, this place ought to be bustling and shining with light and camaraderie. At the same time the desolate, abandoned atmosphere filled him with melancholy; after all, what _was_ he without this?

In the morning they were back at it; evidently last night hadn’t been a concession. Seunghyun supposed it made no difference whether they stopped for a snooze or not; he couldn’t exactly bring in workers to replace them. He was at an absolute loss: he couldn’t cut their wages because they didn’t get any (had never _needed_ any); he couldn’t cut off food supplies even had he wanted to (which he didn’t) – it simply appeared in their warehouse. He watched them all talking and singing, encouraging each other, and felt incredibly lonely. In the following days Jiyong stopped coming to talk to him even in his official capacity, and instead spent his time exhorting his members and keeping them company (he _was_ wearing a flat cap, too). Seunghyun supposed the smaller man was waiting for him to make a move.

On the fourth day of the strike he called up the current Japanese Santa, who laughed at him. Of course he did, the Christian population of Japan was tiny, and even if you expanded out to all the other kids who got Christmas presents Satoshi and his small group of elves had a pretty relaxing time of it.

“I think the British Santa went through the same stuff in the Eighties,” Satoshi told him in English; in the background Seunghyun could hear clinking glasses and J-pop and chatter – man, they were living the life! “Industrial action was the _in thing_ over there, apparently.”

“Well, what’d he do about it?” Europe had to be one of the busiest areas, stockings at the end of every bed.

“Told ‘em to stuff it!” Seunghyun thought Satoshi was sniggering. “He said the kids could lump it like the old days – put in a massive order with a human supplier for oranges and sugar pigs and did the whole thing without the elves. It’d gone on for months by then. And in the New Year they gave in and compromised.”

“I can’t do that!” He couldn’t even imagine the stink that would happen if today’s youth felt they were getting stiffed on their presents – they’d be feuding with their parents all year long!

“Have fun figuring it out, then!” Satoshi wished him a merry Christmas (sarcastic bastard) and hung up.

* * *

On the sixth day the protestors changed their tactics. When Seunghyun came across for his morning lurk he for once found no-one outside. For an instant he dared to hope they’d gotten so bored or chilly they’d broken the strike themselves; an elf’s natural inclination was to be productive and their creative urges were probably feeling stifled. He hurried into the factory, where his hopes were dashed: the entire population was spread across the workshop floor, kids and pensioners included. Various groups nodded at him as he walked through their midst but didn’t stop what they were doing. Some were telling stories to the children, others were teaching school; others seemed to be running hobby circles. Either way, there wasn’t a speck of real work being done.

“…What’s this now?” Seunghyun inquired wearily when he at last found Jiyong pulling a handcart full of picnic gear.

“It’s called a sit-in.” Jiyong didn’t pause so the bigger man was forced to follow him. “We’re occupying the workplace. Also I caught a cold.” He sneezed.

“Are you really going to do this forever?” Seunghyun was so tired, heavy with failure and the mental burden of not being on good terms with the only people he’d ever really known. Jiyong cocked his pretty head as if he could read exactly what his embattled boss was going through.

“Why not?” he said. “It’s really no hardship on us. When it comes to striking, compared to those poor human unions we’ve got everything on our side!”

“I know it,” admitted Seunghyun.

“So just give in.” Jiyong stopped at last and looked up at him. “I don’t think we’re being unfair,” he said soberly. “And it’s not as if I _like_ seeing you this way, Boss. We just have to change with the world.” Seunghyun stared at him: the sudden urge to either kiss him or slap him was overwhelming. But as either option would no doubt end with him up before some kind of elven harassment tribunal, he did neither – he just turned and plodded away.

* * *

That night he had a dream. It was almost certainly a stress dream (eight days ‘til Christmas Eve!), but it bothered him in a more fundamental way and ultimately woke him up. In the dream he was alone; not like he was now – _really_ alone. He wasn’t a Santa anymore, and maybe that should’ve been a relief. But he wasn’t _anything_. He was in a dingy human apartment, the kind of place he hadn’t been (other than for work) since he was a very small child. In the dream he felt very old, and resigned as if nothing he’d ever done had had any purpose. Worse than the general solitude, though, the worst thing of all, was that Jiyong wasn’t with him. He wasn’t even sure after he woke up if the dream version of him _remembered_ Jiyong. The idea of losing that terrified him enough that he stumbled out of bed, still half-asleep, and before he knew it he was wading through the thickly falling snow in the direction of the factory.

He emerged in the warm and found the lights dimmed and the population halved: a lot of the elves must have gone home to bed. The core protesters were wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets on the floor. Seunghyun picked his way urgently through the silent bodies, his throat and chest tight, until at last he spotted the recumbent figure of Daesung (who was snoring in an attention-grabbing manner through his impressive nose). Next to him lay Jiyong. With a long breath of unconscious relief Seunghyun crouched and touched his shoulder.

“…Huh?” said the young elf drowsily. His dark eyes opened and focused on Seunghyun. “Ah, it’s you.” His eyebrows rose as he took in the older man’s pyjamas. Seunghyun couldn’t prevent his face from breaking into a smile: yes, he wanted to throttle Jiyong for starting all this – and at the same time he didn’t want to spend another day not working beside him.

“All right,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s negotiate.” Jiyong’s eyes narrowed, cat-like; but he stretched out his hand and let Seunghyun pull him up. He wrapped a blanket round himself like a cloak, and followed his employer to his office.

It took quite a long time, and not only ‘cos Seunghyun was enjoying the renewal of Jiyong’s company and wanted to draw it out: the Union leader was a tough nut, but Seunghyun was determined not to be a pushover either; Jiyong would hardly respect him for that.

“Two days off per week, right?” Jiyong said, going through their sheet of demands one by one.

“Only one in peak season,” countered Seunghyun. “Or we’ll never get it all done.”

“Then no more round-the-clock operation.” Jiyong scribbled a note in the margin. “If we only have one day for recuperation, at this rate we’ll burn out in a fortnight.”

“Okay.” Jiyong smiled at him, then turned earnest.

“But look, this doesn’t deal with the basic problem: children these days are too entitled. If you keep giving them everything they want they’ll only expect more! Then where will we be next year?”

“What’re you saying?”

“Let ‘em lump it,” said Jiyong, a revolutionary cast to his expression. “Everyone gets the same, rich families and poor! That’s how it used to be, you know – way way back.”

“That’s just gonna cause trouble,” Seunghyun argued. “It’ll end up with a bunch of searching questions, and the last thing we want is a human spotlight on us.”

“Just for this year, then.” Jiyong shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how you’ll catch up if not.” There was some thoughtful silence.

“…If I agree to all your other demands,” offered Seunghyun, “would _you_ agree to a minimum of automation?” Jiyong scowled. “Just for the basic assembly,” the older man went on. “The finishing touches could still be done by hand!”

“Perhaps,” Jiyong allowed, pursing his lips charmingly. “As long as my craftspeople can keep their art alive. But there won’t be time to install machinery and train new operators before Christmas!” he added.

“Good! Fine!” This was a major concession, and Jiyong’s self-aware expression said he knew it. Christ, that was even more charming. Looking at his focused little face Seunghyun was inspired to a flash of inspiration. “For this year…I know what let’s do!” Jiyong raised his eyebrows. “We divvy out the stuff we’ve got ready so far among the population,” explained Seunghyun. “Then we get aboard the hipster train and ride it the whole of next week!”

“Say again?”

“You know,” said Seunghyun eagerly, “those people who keep going on about organic food and artisanal craftwork and yoga. You know they’d just _love_ their kids to have some ‘authentic’ hand-carved retro toys.” Jiyong snorted, but gestured for him to go on. “They’re easy to make,” continued Seunghyun, “barely any time compared to the electronics. We could have enough in a week if we let the hi-tech departments pitch in and get back to tradition.”

“It _is_ the kinda thing they like to do,” said Jiyong after a minute.

“It’ll satisfy their craftsmanship.”

“Good!” Jiyong announced. Seunghyun took a deep breath.

“…But you’ll still have to do overtime. Otherwise we don’t have a hope in hell of being ready.” Jiyong nodded slowly.

“Okay. Yes. For one week – to help you out this _once_. And after Christmas all the new regulations kick in.”

“Agreed!” Seunghyun almost yelled. Jiyong nodded more briskly.

“Wait, then. I gotta go get a witness. Then we sign, and all your problems are over.” The older man watched his employee trot away down the stairs; when he glanced at his hands he found he was crossing his fingers that Jiyong wouldn’t change his mind en route. No: in a minute he saw the blonde head reappear in company with Daesung, who beamed sleepily at Seunghyun. “Give it here, then,” ordered Jiyong. Seunghyun passed him the revised regulations book. Jiyong signed and initialled it with the date, lip caught between his white teeth.

“You promise this is the end of it?” said Seunghyun. Daesung nodded.

“Provided you stick to the rules.”

“All right.” Seunghyun signed; as he did so he heard Jiyong let out a long sigh. He’d been worried too, then. When Seunghyun glanced up he saw the smaller man’s expression had turned soft and pleased – Seunghyun didn’t think he’d ever seen him like that before. Beside them Daesung scrawled his name in witness. Jiyong stood up, and solemnly held out his hand; Seunghyun did the same. As Jiyong’s fingers touched his own he couldn’t stop himself smiling. Jiyong raised his head and smiled too – it was warm enough to melt the snow, and certainly Seunghyun. And with that the first, and hopefully only, strike in Korean Santa history ended.

Jiyong held on to his hand for a long time.

* * *

“You all set, Boss?” asked Jiyong, hat rammed down over his ears and face half-buried in a scarf. It was snowing like some giant had upended a salt shaker over the mountain. The other leaders clustered around him looking anxious; it was everyone’s default expression on this most important night of the year.

“I reckon.” Seunghyun patted the magic sack with its neverending supply of gifts that somehow spirited themselves from the warehouse to the back of his snowmobile as he flitted from home to home.

“Got your map?”

“How many times have I done this now?” Seunghyun demanded. “Anyway, it doesn’t work like that.” As a matter of fact he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it _did_ work, and neither was anyone else: Christmas physics was a matter of constant debate at Claus conferences. All he knew was that he could move from place to place on instinct and in no time at all, but that when he got home as the sun came up he was exhausted enough to simply pass out; and when he woke up he’d be hungry as a wolf. Jiyong shrugged at his confidence, but grinned through his scarf.

“Okay. Up Cat!” The elves all cheered as their employer, clad in red and white (though more streamlined than your average Santa), turned the ignition key and rose gently off the ground. Seunghyun was a bundle of nerves, as he was every year, but mainly excited and unbelievably glad they’d got everything done in time. It’d really been a team effort, and he’d made sure they all knew he appreciated it.

He cleared the treetops; below he could hear his workmates singing a carol, and when he peered down through the heavy snow he could just spy Jiyong’s pale face upturned to watch him. He rose high, high, until the clouds and snow gave way and everything was clear and sparkling. Inhaling a deep, cold breath he focused himself and blinked out of sight at super-speed in the direction of the rising moon.

* * *

Seunghyun woke up sprawled on the sofa where he’d collapsed almost immediately upon returning, presents all delivered, parents and dogs and wakeful kids avoided. The first thing he saw, squinting (he felt like he had the world’s biggest hangover), was sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains: it must be well into Christmas day. The second thing he saw was Jiyong.

“…Wha…?” he managed, braindead as he was every year after the Olympic marathon that was the Night Before Christmas. Jiyong smiled at him from the end of the sofa, chin resting in his palm. He was decked out in soft, worn jeans and a baggy festive sweater that looked brand new; it was fuzzy and, of course, green. It had a Christmas pudding on it.

“Merry Christmas!” Jiyong said chirpily. “How you feeling?”

“Uh…” All Seunghyun could wonder was what he was doing here and how he’d got in. This wasn’t a lucid dream, was it? He pinched himself surreptitiously.

“Here.” Jiyong reached over and grabbed a steaming mug from the side table. “Mulled wine – can’t go wrong if you start the day with booze.” He passed it to Seunghyun, who took it with a baffled blink. It tasted good: spicy and a little sweet. Just like Jiyong.

“…What’s the time?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jiyong clinked his own cup against his boss’s and they drank in unison – the elf had lit a fire in the grate and it crackled comfortably, turning his cheeks pale rose. He'd located the Christmas records and some American crooner from the Forties was playing softly on the turntable. It was the kind of unlikely holiday scene Seunghyun had always dreamed of, and as such made him even more suspicious.

“Why aren’t you at the party with the others?”

“Oh,” said Jiyong with an airy smile, “I already checked they’re having fun. Now I’m checking on _you_.” Seunghyun tried to line this up with the smaller man’s past attitude towards him and failed to have it make any sense. But since Jiyong was over here in his living room and not spouting socialist rhetoric there _was_ something he…

“Got you a present,” he mumbled, and heaved himself off the couch. Crawling across the rug to where he’d flung his red padded coat this morning he retrieved an untidily wrapped parcel; he’d had to do it on the fly (literally) after he’d bought it in Seoul. He caught Jiyong eyeing the package judgementally – it was obvious no elf had wrapped it, the paper was crinkled and the ribbon askew, but it was the best Seunghyun had been able to manage in his near-hysterical Christmas Eve condition. “Here.” He’d never given Jiyong a present before, and had some doubts about how it was going to go down; he thrust it at the elf before he could chicken out. Jiyong turned the small parcel over in his expert hands, feeling its shape. “That’s cheating!” Seunghyun reproached him. Jiyong grinned and ripped the paper off.

“Ooh!” He _sounded_ pleased.

“Try them,” Seunghyun suggested bashfully. “It’s not much, but…” Jiyong raised the stylish, streamlined earmuffs and put them on. It was the perfect green for him, Seunghyun saw in delight, and the muffs neatly hid the pointed tips of his ears. “Thought you could use them when you go into town on your day off,” the older man explained; he was sure Jiyong would be the first to take advantage of the new system. “I know you get too hot indoors with the hat on and this way you can style your hair…”

Jiyong got up gracefully and stepped across to the hallway mirror. He tilted his blonde head this way and that, examining the earmuffs from every angle and admiring himself. When he turned back Seunghyun noticed with relief that he looked pleased.

“Thank you,” Jiyong said softly. “Not just for this; for doing the right thing last week. That was the best present of all.” Goddamn, he was cute! Seunghyun flopped back on the sofa and returned his smile dopily – he’d make the most of this sweet mood while it lasted. “And of course,” added Jiyong, delving into his pants pocket, “I’ve got a present for _you_.”

“You didn’t have to.” This _was_ a Christmas treat.

“I know,” agreed Jiyong, advancing. “That’s why I wanted to.” He plonked himself down on the couch beside Seunghyun and raised a hand above the older man’s head. Seunghyun looked up quickly before Jiyong’s wonderful smell – spices and wood fires and snow – made him say something stupid. In the elf’s hand was a small sprig of dark leaves and white berries. Seunghyun’s eyes widened, because –

Jiyong kissed him. Immediately Seunghyun’s eyes fluttered closed, his shock overridden by some instinct telling him to _make the most of this_ , for fuck’s sake, make the most of the touch of warm skin, soft lips, before Jiyong thought better of it! It was his very first kiss.

“Mmm.” Jiyong drew back, nose brushing his.

“Wha…?” tried Seunghyun again; it didn’t sound any smarter this time. “What was _that_ …?”

“Your Christmas present,” Jiyong told him easily. “Me.” He brushed his slender finger along Seunghyun’s jaw (which was hanging down in amazement and some renewed suspicion that this might all be a dream), then cupped his cheek in one palm. “I wanted to do this ever since you signed the new regulations, but things were _manic_ ‘til last night. And I thought we oughta take our time.” He met Seunghyun’s wide (but sleep-deprived, was this _really_ happening right now?) eyes. “…Don’t you wanna unwrap me?” Seunghyun swallowed heavily; Jiyong had shifted closer, he could feel his heat, feel the soft fluff of his Christmas sweater ghosting across the back of his hand. The younger man _smiled_ again and Seunghyun grew positively giddy.

“…Don’t you have some kind of regulation about the boss taking advantage of his staff?!” he said thickly, trying his utmost to prove he was a decent employer.

“Yes,” murmured Jiyong, mouth quirking up at the corners. “But _I’m_ taking advantage of _you_.”

“Well,” said Seunghyun, lighting up inside, “in _that_ case…” And Jiyong took his face in both hands and kissed him again.

Seunghyun didn’t know where the younger man had been learning all of this or who he’d been practising with, and he didn’t care to ask. All he cared about was the reality of Jiyong beside him, pressed against him – his softness, his strength. Obviously aware that his boss was not exactly on top form at the moment Jiyong took charge.

“I’ve never…” Seunghyun told him shyly as Jiyong shifted into his lap, pushing him back to recline among the sofa cushions.

“I know.” Jiyong sounded happy. “It doesn’t matter. You love me, right?” His eyes crinkled up when Seunghyun nodded frantically. “I knew it,” he said, and his light voice turned rich with delight.

“Tell me what to do, that’s all.”

“I _will_.” Seunghyun chuckled, dazed. Naturally that’d suit his pretty Union man down to the ground. Jiyong was guiding the older man’s fingers to his belt, then the fastening of his jeans, then the rest. Seunghyun shook his head when it came to the sweater – he liked its fluffiness – and instead slid his hands beneath it to caress the smooth, perfect curve of Jiyong’s back. The skin shivered beneath his touch, a marvel! Jiyong bent and kissed his neck, then his collarbone as he unbuttoned the shirt for him; his blonde hair tickled. Seunghyun had never been this close to anyone in his life.

“…Can I look at you?” he begged, hardly knowing how he should act or what the right thing was to say, he was so dizzied by the sensation of his dream coming true. Jiyong shot him a mildly vain smile and straightened up, pushing the bigger man down further on his back and kneeling over him to quickly unzip his fly.

“You can ask me that _anytime_.” He lifted the hem of the sweater slowly, teasing until Seunghyun could see every stunning line of him, including the fact that he was hard, and oh, Seunghyun was too. It was enough to make him gasp, then reach for Jiyong and hungrily draw him down; this, after all, was the one thing he _could_ do worth a damn.

Jiyong’s eyelashes shuddered closed and his pink lips parted when Seunghyun took him in hand. Thank God, thought Seunghyun, he had spent so many lonely nights doing this to himself and picturing that exquisite face – though the reality of Jiyong’s body was even lovelier than the fantasy; the one thing Seunghyun hadn’t been able to imagine was his warmth.

“Here,” whispered Jiyong against his mouth, their legs tangling together as he wrapped his smaller hand around both their erections and guided Seunghyun’s fingers to do likewise. Seunghyun gritted his teeth on a whine of pleasure as Jiyong’s weight bore down on him, pushing them tighter together as their hands moved faster. The younger man was panting now too, muscles tense against Seunghyun’s limbs, and his lips muffled both their moans as they came. It felt like the same magic that moved time and space all over the place for Seunghyun on Christmas Eve: both eternal and over in seconds. Christ, he hoped it hadn’t been too fast, he didn’t think his lover (never in his life had he imagined he’d use that word!) would take kindly to that.

As soon as he could breathe again Seunghyun wrapped both arms around Jiyong and clung to him, one hand buried in that silky flaxen hair to pull him up and kiss him. He didn’t think he’d ever have enough of it – what a revelation that simple touch was!

“…I love you,” he muttered into Jiyong’s skin, the smoothest, softest thing he had ever felt in some places and excitingly textured in others. He thought he’d like to spend the rest of his existence mapping it. “I _do_.”

“…Me too.” It was hard to sound complacent while breathless but the elf managed it. He raised his head to look Seunghyun in the eye, his pupils dilated, darkening and softening his gaze. “And as you weren’t about to make a move I figured _I’d_ better.”

“How’d you have the nerve?” asked Seunghyun, grateful and deeply impressed.

“I’m a proactive person.”

“You got _that_ right.” Jiyong crinkled his nose at him. Christ, so pretty! Seunghyun leaned up and kissed it, and felt clumsy and absolutely marvellous.

“And if you just do as I say,” the smaller man added, “we’re gonna make the _best_ team.”

“Anything!” announced Seunghyun, infatuated. There was a short, comfortable silence, and even in his befuddled state Seunghyun could sense Jiyong’s mental wheels turning.

“We worked really hard, right?” Seunghyun’s little spitfire piped up. “And everything turned out great.”

“In the end.” The older man cuddled even closer and was rewarded with a bewitching smile.

“You must be _exhausted_.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“In need of a rest.”

“After _that_? Yeah!”

“Say…if you gave all the workers a bonus holiday ‘til January,” murmured Jiyong persuasively, fingers stroking Seunghyun’s collarbone, “you could take me on a hot-spring mini break. To Sokcho or someplace even fancier.” Seunghyun gave him an old-fashioned look. “Bread and roses,” expanded Jiyong. “Necessities _and_ indulgence. We don’t wanna just live to work _or_ work to live – we want to have _fun_ living.”

“This some kind of honey trap?” Seunghyun demanded, squeezing Jiyong’s slim waist. Jiyong snorted. “Seducing me for handouts from management, huh?”

“Tell me you don’t want to.” Seunghyun laughed. What could it hurt to give the others a break, especially when it was bound to bring such bliss to himself?

“All right!” he said, in the fastest capitulation by a corporate boss on record. “I promised I’ll do anything – hell, just for showing me the merriest Christmas known to man! So whatever’s good for you, Jiyong – whatever’s good for everyone.” He felt an approving glow all around him, radiating from their bodies and the fire and the afternoon sunlight and the sheer force of Jiyong’s affection.

“ _Good_ ,” said Jiyong, and kissed him. “And when we get there I’ll show you the _real_ meaning of a Happy New Year!”

[ ](https://i.imgur.com/Q735mcT.png)

**Author's Note:**

> Seunghyun's pithy (dorky) quote about picketing is actually a line from a Terry Pratchett novel ( _The Fifth Elephant_ , if I recall), king of social commentary and puns :)
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this fluffy fic! Let me know - and happy holidays wherever you are xxx


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